


On the Meaning of "Home"

by MagnetoTheMagnificent



Series: Andalusia au [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Character Death, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Home, Introspection, Jewish Crowley (Good Omens), Late Night Conversations, Loss, M/M, Muslim Aziraphale, Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Spanish Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 22:35:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30062577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnetoTheMagnificent/pseuds/MagnetoTheMagnificent
Summary: Israfil comforts Antonio after the passing of Rabbi Sarfati.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Andalusia au [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205270
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	On the Meaning of "Home"

**Istanbul, 1497**

Israfil glanced outside, chewing nervously on his lip. Rabbi Sarfati had passed away the day before, and Antonio, of course, attended his funeral. He knew Antonio had been close to Sarfati, and his death had hit him hard. But he had insisted on attending the funeral, and he insisted on going alone.  
If course Antonio was his own man, he didn't need to be accompanied all the time. Israfil knew that. But, the sun had set already, and Antonio was late. Israfil wasn’t too familiar with Jewish burials, but he knew they were fairly similar to Islamic burials, and as such, Antonio should have been back already. 

Israfil took a deep breath, and walked towards the cemetery. Perhaps something had happened to Antonio on the way back, perhaps he had fallen and couldn’t find his way back in the darkness.  
When he reached the cemetery, it was eerily silent, as Israfil would expect from a cemetery. There was always that sense of silence, of the foreboding awareness of death, of permanence. Israfil shuddered. He made out the figure of a lone man, standing alone against the dim light coming from the surrounding homes. 

“Antonio,” Israfil breathed, and moved closer. 

The man didn’t move, but shivered in the night chill.

Israfil stood next to him, and gently draped his coat around his thin frame. Antonio’s head was hunched over, staring down at the freshly turned soil. He had been crying. The headstone hadn’t been finished yet, and so the only marker distinguishing the patch of grassless dirt as a grave was a small wooden post. A marker as temporary as life itself. 

“Antonio, you’ll catch your death in this cold,” Israfil said gently. 

He gripped Antonio’s shoulders, and began to lead him out of the cemetery. Antonio didn’t resist, but moved on weightless legs as Israfil steered him home. 

“Did you eat at all today?” Israfil asked as he poured a bowl of lentils for Antonio. 

Antonio mumbled an answer that confirmed that he had eaten, but clearly not enough. Israfil sighed, and poured a bit more lentils into his bowl. 

“I didn’t mourn my parents,” Antonio said quietly as he ate. 

“When they died, I was too young to remember. To understand.”

Israfil looked up, and touched his hand from across the small table. Antonio never talked to him about his family, and so Israfil had never tried to press further. He assumed it was disease. It was always disease. 

“It was psithis, at least that’s what everyone said. I was just a baby, I shouldn’t have survived, but the moment my mother fell ill, Sarfati took me away from the house. Sounds almost cruel, looking back, taking a baby from his sick mother’s arms,” Antonio continued, and let out a dry, rueful laugh. 

“But he was a smart man, because I didn’t die, while _they_ did.”

“Oh, Antonio,” Israfil said softly, his eyes brimming with tears.

“After they died, I was passed around from household to household until I was old enough to get a job, live on my own. The town became my parents, I guess. I didn’t have one house to go home to, just…..the land, I suppose. The people. That’s why….”

“You didn’t want to leave,” Israfil finished. 

“Yeah,” Antonio sniffed. 

“I never mourned my parents, but Sarfati….he was the leader. Seems like the final loss, the final….”

He began to cry, and Israfil rose from his seat to hold him. 

“I don’t want him, I don’t want all of them to be just a memory,” Antonio sobbed. 

Israfil stroked his back, and gently rocked him in his lap. 

“I think it just became final that.....that I’m never going home.”

Israfil kissed the top of his head, and inhaled slowly. 

“Home isn’t a physical place, you know,” he said carefully. 

Antonio looked up at him with red, puffy, tear-stained eyes. 

“What is it then?” he asked. 

“It’s a- a feeling I suppose,” Israfil replied slowly. 

“And I suppose it could be tied with a place, but I suppose….not always.”

“Then how do you know you’re home?”

“Well, I suppose….I suppose when you know you’re safe, and cared about, and warm….and loved,” Israfil explained with a gentle smile. 

“When are _you_ home, Israfil?” 

Israfil exhaled, and touched his forehead to Antonio’s. 

“I think you know the answer to that, _eini_ ,” he murmured, and kissed his forehead.

Antonio shuddered from the last ebbs of tears. 

“I’m not safe in Almeria,” he said quietly. 

“I’m not cared about….not warm…..not loved…..”

He wiped his sleeve across his face, and looked up at Israfil. 

“But I’m safe with you,” he said. 

“I know you care about me,”

He pressed against Israfil’s chest. 

“And you’re warm….”

“And I love you,” Israfil whispered. 

“You’re my home, Israfil,” Antonio said as realization dawned on him. 

He ran his fingers through Israfil's curls, and closed eyes. Antonio buried his face against Israfil's neck, breathing in his delicate perfume. It was a scent of comfort, of familiarity. 

“You’re my home,” he said against Israfil's warm lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Psithis refers to tuberculosis.


End file.
